Music History, Part 3: The Early Boise Years: 1982 to 1983

Originally posted on My Space, March 20th, 2007

Attention new readers: Please read first blogs to start, or at least, see disclaimer at the beginning of the first three blogs! Thanks...

In the early 80's a famous punk rock artist lived in Boise. His name was Brian Schroeder, but his pen name was 'Pushead'. I never really knew how he ended up in Idaho, perhaps he had relatives there, or grew up there (anyone feel free to jump in and fill us in on that). I do know that one of his first famous drawings was in fact ripped off from him by The Exploited from England. It was of a skeleton in a leather jacket with a dark mow hawk, if I remember correctly. Another drawing was ripped off by LA's Wasted Youth (years later, Wasted Youth would also rip off some records of mine after I was gracious enough to let them stay at my apartment. More on that later).

Exploited logo - Artwork by Pushead

The skeleton, more importantly, the skull, would become his trademark. This particular mohican skull was one of his earlier drawings, before he perfected his unique style of line drawing; using bold, snaking lines as shading, rather than the traditional cross-hatching often used in black and white drawing (black and white was the primary type of drawing he did, I assume, because most punk rock bands could never afford full color printing at the time, except maybe one or two spot colors).

Pushead did many single covers, album covers, gig posters, (for too many bands to list, but most notably, The Misfits, The Necros, SS Decontrol, Youth Brigade, 7 Seconds, even Metallica) and eventually, skateboard designs, I believe first with Zorlac. His style was unmistakable, and influenced generations of subversive artists to come.

The subject matter he chose was incredibly dark (which fit punk like a glove) much along the lines of horror films; rotting corpses (holding up their own detached eyeballs to get a closer look at you) the hell of war and violence. His drawings were everywhere in the underground world of punk, and in that world, he was king.

Because of his many connections with bands, he began to set up gigs in Boise and invited some of the best hardcore punk bands of the time to play there. This was unprecedented, and stirred a lot of excitement, even amongst people who never listened to that kind of music, they somewhat like attendants at a freak show, perhaps motivated by a desire to see something go awry, or it was a chance to see something they may never see again.

Just before Pushead started puting on these shows, the Crusties and Scott decided to start a band. Scott and Pat's father and step mother had an amazing garage, huge, with a barn-like loft, perfect for a band to jam in (Pat was still away at school in Santa Barbara).

Initially, they started the band without a singer in mind. The details are a little fuzzy, but somehow, one of my old hoodlum friends from Jr. High, a handsome, intelligent and slightly devilish and crazy guy named Eric and I both offered ourselves up for the job. The Crusties took a subversively democratic approach to the situation by saying they would just have two singers (not totally unusual at the time) when in reality, it was a prolonged audition to see who cut it.

To my surprise and theirs, I had a huge voice and wrote very political and relevant lyrics, prolifically (I had always written, since the time I was able, in addition to drawing). Eric seemed more interested in being crazy and punk and missed rehearsal didn't have many lyrics, so they chose me and gave Eric the boot. And the topper, I owned the PA system. Thus, in 1983, the music career of a once picked on, girly guy with the last name Flower began.

Looking back at my lyrics, many are, of course, naive as hell. I was a sixteen year old who grew up in an isolated town, for Chrissakes! But some surprised me, found in my trusty spiral notebook that I scrawled in constantly (often in class). Here is a sampling of a song that survived into the next band; State of Confusion (as did some others) called '5 Lives';

I see your point

I see mine too

I see his and hers

They all seem true

But you know that if I don't agree

With what was heard and said

I won't speak out against you

I'll keep in my head

I'll be on his side when I'm with him

And yours when I'm with you

(Chorus)

So many people, so many minds, choices! choices! (repeated twice)

It's easier to cop out

And live five different lives

It's easier to agree with all

To be undecided 'til we die

Many of my songs took more of a personal politics slant like this, and many others followed the fashion of the time, that of bitching about cops, being hassled, being picked on for being different. I like to think I was a bit more clever than most, however, with songs like 'Bored Authority' that had lines like;

In a town of minimum population/Policemen face immense frustration/Burnin free fuel on night patrol/got nothin to do cuz nothin's outta control//Bored Authority(this is the proverbial sing along part where mobs of stinky kids spat on me and my mike singing along)//Got nothin to do//Bored Authority//Guess we'll arrest you//Bored Authority//It's so much fun//Bored Authority//To see the teenagers run.

This was based on reality. The cops were incredibly bored in Boise, and did harass the hell out of teenagers in general, but when punk started, it was like God gave them prey they were justified in hunting. These cruel motherfuckers are a prominent character in this tale. But don't you worry; they get theirs. [Note that here I am not talking about all cops, if it weren't for the majority of good cops in any city, we'd all be screwed].

Pushead skated (read 'skateboarded'), and skated pretty damn well, and he had his own entourage of skater punks at his side at all times, and he ruled the roost. He was incredibly tall and lanky, with an intelligent birdlike face (though not unhandsome, think a taller Anthony Perkins) and he had thick wavy hair that he wore sticking up yet combed back.

Scott and I and the Crusties began to skate with them, and they primarily skated half pipes built in someone's back yard. It drove us to be better skaters, as it was a typical jeering and critical boy crowd that you had as an audience. Pushead could sometimes be the cruelest, while still encouraging you; Mixed messages like a stern father. Whether we loved him or hated him, we all looked up to him. He knew the fucking Misfits. He knew Ian MacKaye. And he skated like a bird from hell, as did all his minions.

We were the scruffy kids, the roughians. And another major division; Pushead's crew was 'straightedge', a new crusade in punk sweeping the east coast, led by Ian MacKaye and Minor Threat. Straightedge was about not doing drugs or drinking, or having sex, in some cases. We tried it for two weeks. No go. We liked to party. We even hid beer at parties sometimes. It was ridiculous. Some of us didn't even do that with our own parents! Finally we said 'we are who we are'; The bad kids.

Pushead also had a band; Septic Death, which was entirely his own brainchild, and the members were guys from his own entourage and they needed a place to practice, and asked Scott to ask his dad if they could share the garage. Scott's dad, being the good natured guy he is, said sure. For us, this meant an in with the king, and later, to play at the rad gigs that Pushead set up.

Septic Death logo - Artwork and design by Pushead

By this time, we had graduated from naming songs by number (literally it was "play 3!") to having songs with names, and having a name for the band, chosen by our burly blonde German American bass player, Brad, who had been going through dictionaries to find rad names. He came across the word 'Dissident' and thought it appropriate, and tacked on 'Militia'. Dissident Militia was born. We were pretty God awful. I can't say we ever got very good. We got better. 

I can also say that we were fast as hell, and that was more than half of what mattered. Much of the time, Brad was playing bass in a different key than Scott, who had picked up the guitar. The drummer was a cat named Erik, who was Brad's right hand man in high school. Brad and Erik were Scott's first roughian friends.

Erik was really only a punk to sew his wild oats, but we didn't find that out until later. He was, however, a badass drummer and played amazingly fast, and accurately. By far, he was the closet to a real musician in the band at the time. But hardcore, and punk in general, was all about just picking up an instrument and playing. Fuck it. Don't judge me, at least I'm doing something.

This is why I think so many cool styles evolved out of punk over the years. The players learned music on their own, and those who stuck with it developed a totally unique style. But incessantly, people would say, "you guys don't even know how to play your instruments." And, since it was expected of us, we just said "Fuck you."

The first ever gig I remember playing with Septic Death was at a hall called Moose Lodge in 1983, and it was a bit before the gigs with the bigger, out of town punk bands. This was Dissident Militia's debut, and we were psyched. Some old school friends may need to help me here, but the bands I remember from this bill were, Oats in the Pan (the fantastic and weird band of Mike Scheer's, who is one of my favorite artists in the world, who did a few Treepeople album and EP covers, and recently did the artwork for Built To Spill's latest release, 'You In Reverse'. Check his website out! 
www.mikescheer.com ) Dissident Militia, and Septic Death, Theory, The Techno Peasants, Polyester Leadership, Cheap Emotion. I don't remember all these bands, but I did find the flyers online (see link below)

Pushead told us to design our own flyers for the show, and true to the punk ethic, he told us to put ourselves as the headliners on our flyers. I designed ours, a gravestone, with a skeletal arm pointing at the band names, rotting flesh falling from the bones. See this flyer, and Pushead's flyer, here: http://www.septicdeath.com/moose.html

Top: Septic Death, Dissident Militia flyer - Artwork/Design by Wayne Flower

Bottom: Septic Death, Dissident Militia flyer - Artwork/Design by Pushead

We had seen Septic Death practice before. The music was pretty cool. Super fast and brutal. Pushead screeched and screamed and towered over us all in the garage loft. The guitar was loud and distorted, the bass thumping along, and the drums insanely fast and precise.

Pushead basically sang his drawings, later writing songs called 'Eye Missing' and 'Demon Inside of Me'. The night of the gig, we all met at the garage to load up the gear. Septic Death walked in and were all completely decked out. Massively spiked hair (British style). Bleach stained jeans and shirts, spiked wrist bands and belts. You may think our jaws dropped in awe? Actually, we were incredibly disappointed. We were of the no nonsense school of punk. Wear what you wear everyday on stage. No posing! Punk is about the music, about the message! In retrospect we were being silly, I guess. But at the time, we took that esthetic very seriously. It was the first division between us and them (before the 'Straightedge' division), and this division would widen.

The gig was incredible. People weren't pogoing, they were bumping into each other (playfully, then) swinging each other around. The music was well received by all and we had a blast playing it. I was performing and feeling that high for the first time. But you never admitted that! No way man! Music! Message! We didn't give a fuck if people liked us or not, man! Needless to say, I soon had conflicts with this silly MO, but at the time...it was as important as 'bling' is to hip hoppers today (or should I say, the record label ho hip hoppers that are the only ones radio stations will play? Another blog, perhaps). At the end of the show, we knew we wanted to do this more. And More. Girls actually noticed me! What a ride.

Dissident Militia at Moose Lodge, Boise, ID, 1983

Pushead singing for Septic Death at Moose Lodge, Boise, ID, 1983

Flyer for one of the last Dissident Militia's shows

Tune in next time. Dissident Militia go on the road and meet 'The Kings of Punk'. Boise gets a 'scene' and bands spring up like potatoes.

Music History, The Early Boise Years: Part 2: 1982-1983

Originally posted on My Space, March 1st, 2007

Disclaimer:

This account of histories of the Boise, Idaho (81-89) and Seattle, Washington punk and indie music scenes (89-2003) are from my perspective and memory only. In other words, I could be off on some things! If you were there, and want to correct me, please feel free to send me a message or email. I will try my damndest to clear the cobwebs, get it right and be as objective as possible. Also, I am consulting various friends to make sure I am as correct as can be.
Like I said in my intro blog entry, I am keeping personal details as vague as possible unless imperative to the story, and even then I will stay as neutral as possible. In other words, no juicy gossip here, sorry!

A note about Wayne's memory, and memory in general: My father passed on in the early 80's, rest his soul. I went to his funeral in Eastern Washington when I was 16. For many years, I had a distinct memory of his ashes being spread over the rolling hills by a priest, who got his ashes out from a beautiful urn. Many years later, in a conversation with my older sister, I came to find that what actually happened was that his ashes got held up on a plane and she went to get them and rush them to the service, in a simple wooden box. They were hastily buried so that my aunt, a religious woman, would not see the modest box. The priest was wrangled up last minute, and also more for my aunt's benefit than my father's, as he was not at all religious (he refused to let me be baptized!). My point is that…memory is a funny thing. So if any of this is bullshit…it was not by design!

Things accelerated briskly after the period of the Channel shows. Jane and Rob lost interest and moved out of town to CA, and, the salad days were over for us. The 'New Wavers' went our separate ways, not totally, but we were never that same unit again. We had a good run at Boise High, though, and one of our number, a very intelligent (and a little creepy) senior who wore his hair long but listened to the same music and aspired to the same ethic we did managed to campaign successfully for Student Body President. Things shifted a bit then, to be sure. Also, New Wave had become a radio whore (as I mentioned before) and MTV's exposure was a factor. New Wave's obsession with fashion and looks was a perfect fit for MTV, and therefore, our fashion and 'culture' a little more legitimate because of this exposure, but only to some degree. We were still frowned upon, in general. Ultimately, though, this fashion whoredome was what drove myself and many others away from New Wave and toward its surly sibling; Punk.

Sophomore year ended and by this time I had begun to hang with a whole new crew of friends through my afore-mentioned friend Scott, who had abandoned heavy rock n roll for a new, fast-paced, angry music called 'Hardcore' that was sweeping the East and West coasts and leaving a trail in between. This was the music/lifestyle of choice amongst his new-found friends. This new crew was made up of roughians, a year older than us, skateboarders, drinkers, partiers (of course, most of the school were partiers…what all American high school student body isn't?). They were the 'Anti-jock', without sacrificing any machismo.

Scott's big brother, Pat (also afore-mentioned) was becoming more of an influence over him, and thus, over me as well. Pat was back from school in CA one summer, when I met him for the first time. He had a close-cropped hair style, but you could still see how thick and curly it was. He wore punk rock and skateboard T shirts, Vans tennis shoes. (Vans were only just then catching on in Boise. Pat sent Scott Vans slip-ons when Scott and I were in Jr High and people would chant "Gilligan shoes!!" at him. Within 1 year, everyone was wearing them, whether they skateboarded or not. Ain't it always the way?). Pat's transportation was a rad blue Schwinn cruiser bike with whitewall tires that he rode with fury, and his trusty street skateboard.

Gilligan Shoes!!

Pat's presence was intense, arrogant, intelligent, badass. Everything about him said "don't fuck with me". I was still a bit feminine (though heterosexual) and very verbose, a little neurotic and quite the wiseass (Crap. Minus the feminine part, that is me today!). Needless to say, Pat and I did not really hit it off at first. I guess you could say we never really did, until the end.

Pat took Scott under his wing, brought home records for him to listen to. The Clash, the Adolescents, and most importantly, Black Flag (Henry Rollins was a big hero of his). I clearly remember one day when I was over at their house, Scott and I were intrigued by an Echo and the Bunnymen video playing on MTV, I forget the song, but it was a live performance in England, an entire crowd of people pogoing up and down. We thought it was super cool and said so.

Echo and the Bunnymen? "Faggy new wave shit." - Pat Schmaljohn

Pat was not impressed. "That's faggy new wave shit! Come here! Listen to this!" and he proceeded to put an LP onto their parents' living room turntable. It was 'Give 'Em Enough Rope' by The Clash. We got it. This was what was cool. Not that 'faggy new wave shit'. Fuck pogoing! These guys had balls! They told it like it was. They sang about wars and fucked politicians, and hypocritical assholes. And they played music that backed it up. Grabbed you by the balls. Fuck crying over some girl in a trench coat who ignored you!

The record that changed my view of what punk was

Here and there I began to end up at parties with Scott and his new friends. Years later, they became known as 'The Crusty Boys'. For purposes of easily identifying them, I will use this title (and variations of it) before its time in this chronology.

The Crusties were not sure about me yet, and were a little suspicious, but I was ok with Scott, so I was ok with them. It fit with the pattern I had established early in life, that of hanging out with roughians. Inevitably, a fight started at the parties, things got broke, someone's girlfriend was 'stolen'. Suddenly, I was invited to less parties!

I was no longer small. During sophomore year, I shot up to the 6' 2" frame I am in today, though I was then skinny as a rail, and I was no macho guy. From being beat on a lot, I was, however, tough enough to cut the mustard. And my razor wit helped win over the Crusties somewhat. They were all about the dis, the put down, and I could play that game when needed (though not the best at taking it!).

The Crusties were skateboarders to the extreme, the kind of guys you read about in Thrasher Magazine, who lived the lifestyle (think 'Jackass' with skateboards and with less pranks, years before its time), they skated hard, played hard, and listened to music that fit that lifestyle.

That music was known as 'Hardcore Punk'. Many of the bands also skated, and later, 'Skaterock' evolved from that, bands that sang about skating. The Crusties both streetskated and skated on half-pipe ramps, and were quite good, many nearly at a pro level. I fell in and began to skateboard, I traded in my long locks for a crew cut, my suit coat for punk shirts (my first couple were a Dead Kennedys Holiday in Cambodia shirt and a shirt with a picture of Reagan and a red anti symbol over his face) and jack boots and Vans. I started listening to hardcore; Black Flag, Negative Approach, Gangreen, The FUs, Seven Seconds, Dead Kennedys, Youth Brigade, The Necros, The Misfits, Husker Du (yes…they were hardcore then! Listen to the early stuff; 'Land Speed Record' or 'Everything Falls Apart') Minor Threat, The Faith, Void and many others. This music would dominate my turntable and my cassette decks for quite awhile, until a band called The Minutemen rocked my world a different way...More on that later!

One of my first 'punk' t-shirts

Stay tuned…Next episode: Wayne joins a band.

Music History, Part 1: The Early Boise Years: 1981 to 1982

Originally posted on My Space, August 18th, 2007

This account of histories of the Boise, Idaho (81-89) and Seattle, Washington punk and indie music scenes (89-2003) are from my perspective and memory only. In other words, I could be off on some things! If you were there, and want to correct me, please feel free to send me a message or email. I will try my damndest to clear the cobwebs, get it right and be as objective as possible. Also, I am consulting various friends to make sure I am as correct as can be.

Like I said in my intro blog entry, I am keeping personal details as vague as possible unless imperative to the story, and even then I will stay as neutral as possible. In other words, no juicy gossip here, sorry!

A note about Wayne's memory, and memory in general: My father passed on in the early 80's, rest his soul. I went to his funeral in Eastern Washington when I was 16. For many years, I had a distinct memory of his ashes being spread over the rolling hills by a priest, who got his ashes out from a beautiful urn. Many years later, in a conversation with my older sister, I came to find that what actually happened was that his ashes got held up on a plane and she went to get them and rush them to the service, in a simple wooden box. They were hastily buried so that my aunt, a religious woman, would not see the modest box. The priest was wrangled up last minute, and also more for my aunt's benefit than my father's, as he was not at all religious (he refused to let me be baptized!). My point is that…memory is a funny thing. So if any of this is bullshit…it was not by design!

The early years:

No history of anything from one person's perspective would be complete without a little history of the teller himself. To bastardize a line from one of the greatest comedies of all time, The Jerk; "I was born a poor white child…" in Boise Idaho, located in the southwest portion of the state, which is radically different than the northern portion. Northern Idaho is basically like the mountains of Canada, the panhandle, that is only there because when they made the territories, nobody wanted to claim the crazy fuckers that were there. This is why the Neo Nazi's found a home there. But things have changed (the former Nazi compound now an anti-hate center) and I have family there, decent folks.

Boise is nestled in a river valley in the middle of a shrub desert. Founded by Mormons, many of the same folks that settled the Salt Lake City, Utah area (which is 6 hours south and a little east, and the nearest of what could be called a 'city'. Seattle is 9 hours west). Part of being poor was that I hung with rough trade mostly, who were also children of single mothers, mothers who worked their asses off at multiple jobs to keep us alive (God bless em). I chose tough bastards to befriend, because, though they beat up on me, they did so less than the asshole jocks did (being a small, long-haired little boy who looked like a little girl with the last name 'Flower', I got beat up alot. The idiots made me stronger). As well, people messed with me less because they knew who my friends were.

This was the perfect background from which to fall into punk rock when it came around. Some of the common denominators of towns where punk scenes emerge, at least the first few, are; poverty, boredom, violent assholes who hate anything different, and an evil, bored, police force, made up of the former, violent assholes that hate anything different group. Boise had it all.

One of the first records I owned

I was born in 1966, so I was 10 when the Sex Pistol's sneering faces were suddenly seen everywhere, and when the Ramones occasionally graced late night shows. Into the late seventies and early 80's, I made the transition musically, from the very first records I received for Christmas (along with an entirely plastic JC Penny's record player) Elton John's Greatest hits, and Jackson 5, Off The Wall, KISS, Rock n' Roll Over (a gift from my step uncle) through to the Yes records I listened to with my brother when he got back from and the Army in Germany, to...Split Enz, Devo, Adam Ant and The Police.

The TV was our only way to see what went on in the rest of the world. Years before, I had seen Devo on Saturday Night Live. I stayed up late to see 'New Wave Theater', and saw bands like Bad Religion years before I knew who the hell they were. I was intrigued.

I hung with a couple buddies who shared the same musical tastes, one of whom, Scott, had been a good friend one year, in 9th grade, at North Jr. High. At that time, Scott listened to some punk that his brother sent and brought back from college in California. But he never talked about music much. We were just skinny nerd kids. We fell out of touch at the end of the year, and when I saw Scott next, as a sophomore in highschool, his hair was long, he wore black rock T shirts, and listened to AC DC and Van Halen. I had fallen in with 'New Wavers' and was dabbling in The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bow Wow Wow, The Specials, The English Beat and many other bands, as well as a new lifestyle and fashion sense, which included suit coats covered in punk band buttons (and one Led Zeppelin button, to confuse jocks), a safety pin laced red sweater and any other crazy shit I could come up with that made my mother shake her head. Scott and I would soon head toward punk rock together, playing music for years. But that is for another blog.

No punk history of Boise, ID would be complete without a mention of Boise High School (still there), which is really where the whole scene there got it's start. My friend Scott's older brother, Pat (who will be a central character in this history later) had forged a path for us in Boise High, being there two years ahead of us. He was sent home from school once for wearing a Devo 'Are We Not Men' T shirt, maybe the tamest punk rock shirt of all time!

Boise High School; Training ground for a small group of New Waver/Punk Rockers in the '80s who braved scary hick jocks so later generations didn't have to - Photo by Jesse Reynard

By the time I was a 'New Waver' in my sophomore year (1982), Boise High was still brutal territory. I was spit at once by jocks lining the halls, and once, a monster farm boy football player named Randy threatened to throw me out the second story bathroom window. At the time, our lifestyle was a major threat, and nobody wanted any part of it disrupting the 'Leave it to Beaver' lifestyle that some people fooled themselves into thinking existed.

There was a government sponsored youth group someone heard about that funded projects put together and organized by youths, supervised by two adults. We will call it 'The Channel' here, what say? Me and a group of about 6 or 7 friends from the New Wave/Punk scene (New Wave and Punk were synonymous for a time, until New Wave splintered off as disco punk pop and succumbed to being a radio whore) met up with who we will call Jane and Rob, a couple in their late 20's, stoners, liberals, world travelers, who I am sure started out with the best of intentions being the chaperones for The Channel group.

Usually, the kind of things that groups did using the government money from The Channel was to build some memorial at a park to a kid who was hit by a car there, or to clean up highways and the like. But, after hanging out with Jane and Rob, smoking reefer and those weird little cigarettes from India they brought with them from their last trip there, we decided to put on some dances, with live bands. This is the part of the story where someone stands up and says, finger in the air, "Hey kids...Let's put on a SHOW!"

At the time, 1982, I was fully into New Wave music, right as it was beginning to do the 'splintering off' mentioned above, and before a harder edged music splintered the other way, a music that would change my life forever. But locally, there were not a lot of live bands to see that played mostly original music.

There was a band called 'The Commonauts' from Boise that was great. Sort of like the Plimsouls (of whom I was unfamiliar with then) but punkier, guitar bass and drums. They played some carefully chosen covers and an original called 'Missing Link' about asshole jocks that resonated with us New Wave kids who were always picked on. And...the topper, they put out a 7 inch record! This was the perfect vehicle for our dances and we approached them. They enthusiastically excepted (while still trying to be aloof and cool about it). Incidentally, the drummer in The Commonauts was a very confident young man, a talented, multi instrumentalist named Curt Stigers, who went on to be the next Kenny G of the sax, years later.

The Commonauts in 1982 - Photo by Gina Gregerson

So, I can say that I was involved in puting on one of the first New Wave/Punk Rock shows in Boise, before I ever played in a band. It was headlined by a bar band pretending to be New Wave kids called 'Billy Bee and the Stingers', and under them, The Commonauts. See this flyer in my 'Music History' photo group on my photo page here on My Space [See below for crappy photo of flyer].

I drew the flyer, too. It was a dude in the trademark black suit and skinny tie and wrap-around sunglasses, passed out on the dance floor. The janitor's feet and legs are seen, and a push broom, as he tries to clean up the messy floor around him. The drawing is surrounded by black and white checkered boxes (oh, how we loved those checkered boxes and zebra stripes!) and under it was the phrase 'Dance til you drop!'.

From the minute I saw kids 'pogoing' on the wooden floor of the YWCA (where, incidentally, I had gone to grade school in the basement at an alternative school that rented from them) to The Commonauts playing 'Missing Link', I knew something had started that was going to be very cool, and a very wild ride that would change my life.

Stay tuned!

Blog Virgin Dives In

Originally posted February 9th, 2007 on My Space

So I kept thinking "I should do a blog." I have never done one. I get it, why it is important, the blog, and why it can suck, but it is the same as television, right? Or as the computer or the internet, cell phones, same deal.

Technology is a set of tools, and they can be used to make cool shit, or utter crap, or to do evil, heinous shit. I am sure someone has committed murder with a toothbrush somewhere. But..Damn I am glad we have toothbrushes. Trust me, so are you. A shout out for toilet paper while we are at it. Or toilets! I digress, already, 2 paragraphs into my first blog. Damn.

Anyhow...I have also thought that I should write down my experiences of playing in punk rock bands in Idaho in th 80's, and later in pop punk bands in Seattle, right before and during the time the music scene there blew up. At the time, bands there sounded like 70's rock (but also somehow like music does under the influence; warbled, in your face but far away). It was quite a ride, for 20 years, all told.

I just realized this whole blog idea was sparked by a guy who sent me a message via My Space about State of Confusion, the Boise, Idaho hardcore band I played bass in during the 80's. He had done a search on the band and found me here. He searched because he met Pushead (guru of the Boise scene in the early 80's) where he was raised, in Tokyo, and he now lives on a farm in the south of the US with his wife and kids and a bunch of animals.

Not sure how much you can really get a sense of a person through this odd world of My Space, and a couple emails, but he seems like a straight up dude. And seeing 'Mystic Records' as one of his friends well, memories flooded.

The idea of writing up a history of the Boise and Seattle scenes appealed to me, initially. But I soon realized I would have to tell stories about friends, both ones I have still and those who time has folded away, stories that were not always flattering. I really wouldn't want to do that, because it dishonors them. And, it just isn't cool.

I guess that is the part of the blog thing I do not like. I do not like going to some friend's blog and reading about how and why their boyfriend pissed them off (which is why I am selective about choosing blogs to read) I don't get the appeal of airing your shit on the world wide fuckin web. More importantly, OTHER people's shit. It is pretty low rent. Sorry, it is. So that was that.

But, I decided to use the blog to describe the scene as it was to me. I can do that, and tell stories, and keep any unnecessary personal details vague. I like to share good stories. So I will.

For now, since I have rambled on (as I am want to do) I will end here.

Stay tuned for more.

Crap. I am really doing this blog thing now, aren't I? Damn.

Wayne

Introduction

Hello everyone,
 
I started this music history on My Space about 5 years ago. As I state in the first entry, I was reluctant to do it because of the hunger for gossip in the blogosphere when it comes to this kind of thing, ie, first hand accounts of the inner workings of bands, especially bands where some of the members went on to be well known in other endeavors. I would be writing about friends, and even if the subjects of certain entries weren't friends, I just didn't want to disrespect anyone's privacy. The disclaimer for the first post pretty much explains this in further detail.


I have had nothing but issues with the My Space interface, and, let's face it, My Space is not relevant to anything except band pages since Facebook came along, but I didn't feel that Facebook was the right place for this to live. I have had a poetry blog here on blogspot for a couple years (www.waynewords.blogspot.com) and I dig the software for the most part, so it only made sense to move it here, a process that will be in progress for a bit. It will also allow me to imbed pictures within my posts and do more cool things with the look and feel of it. Anyhow, enjoy and of course comment away, correct me, tell me it sucks, you know, the usual...

Wayne R. Flower 7/29/11